


Fulfilling My Purpose

by MeepMop93



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 11:34:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11401677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeepMop93/pseuds/MeepMop93





	Fulfilling My Purpose

Sherlock’s last case ends earlier than he’d thought. He makes he way to John’s house with a bounce in his step, knowing John doesn’t have surgery today. He hopes for John it will be a nice surprise to see him. Sometimes Sherlock can’t always tell if John is upset or enthusiastic when around Sherlock.

 

John’s car is in the garage but there’s someone else inside, Sherlock’s sure of it.

 

He lets himself inside and immediately knows his deduction is correct. Deep loud guttural noises Sherlock recognizes as coming from John form a rhythm with a consistently volumed stream of screams of a woman. The symphony set to the brutal beat of something hitting a wall.

 

Sherlock’s heartbeat immediately sets off, pitter pattering like a rabbit’s. He slowly moves down the hallway to John’s bedroom. The door is left shamelessly open and torn female clothes are strewn along the path.

 

Sherlock knows exactly what he’ll see of course but the reality of it is still such a daunting, powerful image he can’t help but gasp.

 

They’re fucking at a slight angle, so that Sherlock can see John’s broad back and partial profile but thankfully not enough for John or the young girl he’s ramming to get any sight of him peeking past the doorway unless they turned their head significantly.

 

And neither seems intent on focusing their attention away from the fierce task at hand.

 

The bed is such a disaster, not only are all the sheets pulled off and crumpled on the floor, the mattress itself is skewed, off kilter from the rectangle of the bed.

 

Sherlock’s brain grabs those details but he really isn’t paying any attention to all that.  He can’t. He can’t think of anything but John.  

 

John is gorgeous. The broad planes of his muscled back ripple underneath tanned-skin flushed a dark ruddy color, and every inch of the man soaked with hot sweat that drips like a faucet onto the girl underneath with his steady exertions.

 

Sherlock’s not sure how long he stands there, brain half mush, but at some point the girl comes. Or comes again. She looks so utterly red-faced and fucked out it’s hard to tell.

 


End file.
